it's not a 'Goodbye' it's an 'I Know We'll Meet Again'
by Bearbutt
Summary: Five moments: Steve and Peggy. Steve Rogers really wishes that he looked his age. Peggy educates him on the last 75 years.


**Fact: I spend a lot of my time angsting about these two.**

**Apologies for any inaccuracies, faux pas, or alternate character interpretations. I'm a DC gal and my descent into Marvel is slow. This is based entirely in the MCU for that reason. Likely to be Jossed by Winter Soldier. IT'S MY FANFICTION PARTY AND I'LL STEGGY IF I WANT TO.**

**enjoy.**

**-B**

* * *

I.

He begins with a soft circle. Two parallel lines going down to meet in a square jaw. Diagonal lines for cheekbones. Four horizontal lines. Brows, eyes, nose, lips. The nose comes down in a crooked line. A broken nose courtesy of a young man behind the theatre. The lips pull down into a frown. There's a wrinkle between his brows. Up towards the top of the circle. He parts the hair to the left. He erases the softer lines and fills in the eyes. He knows the sad look from the mirror.

Steve looks down at a quick self portrait. It's plain and a little exaggerated if anything. He adds more lines around the mouth. With a sudden passion he thins the hair and puts heavier bags under the eyes. Crows feet. Age spots. Glasses, a hearing aid. He changes the mouth to a smile and lets the loose skin bag around it.

Tears well in his eyes. This is how he should be. God, he wishes he could look his age.

* * *

II.

Her house is a quiet oasis in Brooklyn. Walking in is walking backwards to when things made sense. Peggy's not without modern comfort. She has a microwave and a laptop. Steve stands with his jacket on and his hands in his pockets.

"Make yourself at home." She says.

And he tries not to flinch because that's just something people say. It's not like she's specifically thinking that this could have been their home.

He clears his throat and shrugs off his jacket. When he turns he sees her staring at him the way she always has.

"You, uh, said something about catching up."

She smiles, "Yes, I wanted to help broaden your knowledge of the past seventy-five or so years."

Peggy grabs his hand and leads him into her bedroom. Steve feels a blush creep up on his cheeks. Her attention isn't on the very present bed, but on her record player.

"Now, I have an iPod for necessity, but nothing beats the sound of vinyl."

He laughs. It earns him a raised eyebrow.

"I heard some kids on the subway saying the same thing."

Peggy's lips curl, "I guess I put the 'plastic hip' in 'hipster'."

He laughs again. It might not be appropriate or even that funny, but he laughs because it's Peggy and she makes him feel like there are balloons in his chest.

She slides a record out of its case and onto the player, then she lowers the needle and motions to bed.

Again, Steve feels his cheeks go hot.

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

But it's hard because the gutter is filled with memories of how warm she is and the soft sighs she makes when he nips at her neck.

They lay back on the edge of the bed so his feet still touch the ground. The music that crackles to life is soft and dreamy. He opens his mouth to speak, but Peggy shushes him.

"This song made me cry when I first heard it." She whispers.

Ground control to Major Tom. Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.

It's when the music descends into cacophony that Steve starts feeling hot tears streaming down past his temples and dotting the comforter.

"It's like he gets it."

He feels Peggy nod.

"I was making history and the bigger issue was how well I filled out my suit."

Steve turns to look at Peggy. Her eyes are glassy and he sees her swallow a shaky sob.

"Well, I'm glad you're back to Earth, Major Tom."

He tips his head so their hair tangles together.

Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom?

He closes his eyes and remembers piloting Skull's ship. He remembers holding her picture.

Steve? Steve?!

"Peggy. I love you very much."

"I know."

He kisses her.

* * *

III.

They have this game they play called "Our Life Together". It's something Steve comes up with while they're doing the dishes.

"We'd have a girl first. She'd have your eyes and smile."

Peggy's lip wobbles before she breaks into a watery grin.

"She'd be blonde, though. And she'd be stubborn and gentle like you."

She runs a hand along his cheek. Steve turns and kisses her.

Later that evening he draws their hypothetical daughter. He thinks her name should be Margaret Rogers Jr. She thinks Emily is a fine name.

Emily Margaret Rogers has (would have) a strong jaw and a small nose. Her eyes are big and brown and she dimples when she smiles. Steve draws her smiling.

He leaves the picture with Peggy and kisses her goodnight. He wants to stay the night. He wants to lay beside her and feel her breath on the back of his neck. He misses the feeling of her arms cradling him. He misses the warmth of her skin against him.

Steve keeps all these things to himself and doesn't press the issue when she bids him goodnight. It's a little too chaste and formal for his liking.

He goes for a long walk afterward. His leather jacket creaks as he swings his arms.

* * *

IV.

She always has a single cigarette just after sex or a mission well done. Her mouth tasting like ash is kind of a damper on post-coital kisses, but Steve loves her enough to enjoy the smoky flavour.

It's usually quiet after. They listen to the sounds of the night. Boots crunching on the path leading from the tents to the bathroom. Occasional birdsong. The low rumble of men conversing.

Peggy rests half on him with her leg hooked around his waist and one hand against his heart. He'd think she were sleeping if he couldn't hear her thinking.

He kisses her fingertips.

"When we get out of this I want to marry you." His voice cracks.

Steve clears his closing throat and attempts to play it off.

Peggy moves to look him in the eye.

"If we get out of this, then yes. I'll marry you."

He feels his cheeks protest at the wideness of his smile.

"I'm gonna buy you a ring."

"You'll do no such thing."

"It's gonna be the gaudiest most expensive gem a soldier can afford."

"Steve."

"I think we should have daffodils for our wedding flowers."

She sighs against his face. He's still grinning. He's waiting for her to paint her first stroke of their hypothetical life together. The words are almost past her lips. She huffs and buries her face in the pillow, embarrassed. The moment passes and she turns back to him with wild eyes.

"I'll wear my grandmother's lace wedding dress. I'll have to get it altered though. The hem is far too long to fight in."

"There will be violence at our wedding?" Steve's brow creases.

"Well, it never hurts to be prepared."

"Right. Nazis might crash the wedding."

"We'll have to invite Barnes, I suppose. For security purposes." She sighs.

He laughs, "Yeah, I guess. I will need a Best Man, after all."

She brushes the hair out of his face and gives him that pained smile. She enjoys his little games, but lacks his optimism. They're fighting Nazi laser beams on a regular basis. She doesn't know if they'll live to see the next sunset, let alone to make their vows.

"Where would we live?" He senses her descent into dark thoughts.

"Brooklyn. You promised me you'd take me to a baseball game."

* * *

V.

"It's a lot different than I remember." Steve says.

Peggy's been to this stadium probably a hundred times. This is the first time she's agreed to meet somewhere other than her apartment. Steve wants to hold her hand, she keeps dodging each attempt. Instead he shoves both fists into his jeans. The Yankees cap he wears is pulled almost completely over his face.

"Come on, our seats are this way."

The stadium is a lot bigger. The scoreboards have been replaced with screens and lights. Despite the difference in appearance, the smell has stayed the same.

They're here and it's 1950. Emily Margaret's got her hair in pigtails and that James keeps pulling. Peggy's in a green sundress.

Peggy's seated and pulling a pair of glasses out of her purse. Instead of a green dress she's in a pair of jeans and a jersey.

"Are you going to sit down, Steve?"

Steve's knee jiggles. He's wanted this more than anything, but it's nothing like he expected. It makes his jaw ache. He thinks of lace gowns and daffodils and a diamond the size of his fist. His eyes are hot and blurry.

Peggy's frail hand on his knee brings him plummeting back to reality.

"Are you okay?"

"No—I wanna hold your hand."

He sucks a breath in through his teeth and looks at the field, hoping his vision will stop swimming.

She holds his hand.

"It's not fair." He says.

"I know. I've just had longer to get used to it."

"How did you stand it?"

"I was a work-aholic. I volunteered to work every holiday to avoid going home to a house without you in it."

She sounds so casually bitter as she orders a box of Cracker Jacks.

"You could've married someone else." Steve suggests even though it makes him feel ill.

"Oh believe me, Howard tried for years. I couldn't. I knew you'd come back. I just thought it would be sooner."

"I'm here now."

"Steve, you don't want to marry a ninety year-old woman."

"And what if I do?" He challenges.

Peggy makes an exasperated noise and rises for the National Anthem. Steve keeps his grip on her hand.

She's blushing and it's adorable. He opens his mouth and sings.


End file.
